


Newt vs Groot

by Fire_Fox_0111



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics)
Genre: Marvel/Fantastic Beasts crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-07-12 14:59:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15997634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Fox_0111/pseuds/Fire_Fox_0111
Summary: Magizoologist Newt Scamander goes looking for Bowtruckles - and finds something entirely different...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ice_Fox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ice_Fox/gifts).



The owl came at twenty-seven minutes past four in the morning, when the usual bustle and hum of the New York streets were reduced to a faint murmur. It swooped over the rooftops, crashed through the apartment window (open, of course, on one of the hottest days of the year), dropped the envelope into the coal scuttle, and then glided immediately out into the paling dawn.

Newt woke immediately and rolled over with a slight yawn, his fluffy brown hair even more disheveled than usual. Once he had sufficiently woken himself up, he retrieved the envelope from the  scuttle, shook off its coating of soot and opened it.

The letter was written in a spiky, spindly hand, on mottled beige parchment. It read:

_Dear Mr ~~Samand~~   ~~Scrama~~ Scamander,_

_I have heard about you from my neighbor Biloxi, who heard about you from the landlady Mrs McQuiggle, who heard about you from Ophelia the milliner’s niece, who heard about you from her aunt’s customer Queenie Goldstein, and I wondered if I could trouble you with a little problem I have at the moment. I run a second-hand wand shop in Queens_ (a second-hand wand shop! thought Newt. That was something he had never seen in England),  _and several of my customers have been complaining about seeing Bowtruckles running round the place. I haven’t seen any myself, but several of the wands have gone missing from the shelves, and if I’ve got a Bowtruckle infestation then I’m afraid it will be bad for business. Could you possibly come and check it out? There are some pest control people in the area who deal with this sort of thing, but they charge far too much and I’m short of Dragots at the moment._

_Yours gratefully,_

_Hadley J. Houtkooper_

The address at the top of the letter was for an area of Queens which, although not usually frequented by witches and wizards, did have a small magical community and presumably a couple of magical shops. As Newt had never seen that part of New York before, he would have to walk instead of Apparating. Never mind - it was a lovely morning for walking, with the birds already singing in the warm skies, and the streets were still free of bustle. 

Newt gently stroked the leaves on the head of the Bowtruckle who had just clambered into his pyjama pocket. “I think you might be getting some new friends for a while, Pickett,” he murmured. He was glad that Houtkooper hadn’t called the ‘pest control people’ - they probably wouldn’t have much respect for Bowtruckles, and would treat them like vermin. Newt wasn’t like that. He understood the creatures he dealt with, and treated them with the respect they deserved.

A while later, Newt was walking through the dusty streets of Queens with his suitcase in his hand. Dressed in a long Prussian-blue coat and yellow scarf, he stood out like a rare, colourful flower against the backdrop of grey houses and grey streets. The only shops he could see here were a little coffee-house and a dilapidated building which appeared to be an empty antiques store. However, the antiques store must have had an anti-Muggle charm placed on it (or, as the locals would say, an anti-No-Maj spell), because as he got closer, the air in front of it seemed to shimmer, and suddenly the store had transformed into a squat little wand-shop with a sign that read:

_HOUTKOOPER’S WANDS, second-hand. Bought, sold and traded._

In the window was a placard onto which someone had painted, firstly the word “CLOSED”, and above that, a pair of large, roving green eyes. The eyes rested upon Newt for a moment or two, then they widened as though with recognition and the whole placard gave a sort of trembling jump, so that now the side reading “OPEN” was facing the window. As Newt entered the shop, the eyes followed him for a few seconds before blinking and resuming their original position. 

The interior of the shop was almost as dusty as the street outside. Slender wand-boxes were stacked in pyramids against the walls and on the windowsill. In one corner, there was a large, rather startled-looking Long-Eared Owl (the same owl that had woken Newt up that morning), perched on what looked like a brass hatstand.

In another corner was a doorway covered by a slightly shabby curtain, and it was from behind this curtain that the proprietor of the shop emerged.

Mr Houtkooper was one of those deflated-looking men who were once quite sturdily built, but then gradually lost weight over the years until they were like a balloon that had been let down. He was in his late forties, with greying hair and the same coloured eyes as the ones on the placard. His robes could have been almost any hue, they were so faded, but the little tasselled hat that he wore was caramel-coloured with a tawny trim. “You’re Mr Scamander, right?” he said, hand outstretched.

Newt took the proffered hand and shook it politely. “Please, call me Newt,” he replied. As Mr Houtkooper hadn’t offered him a chair, he perched against the edge of the counter as the shopkeeper explained the details of his “little problem”.

It seemed that Houtkooper didn’t know very much about Bowtruckles - which was was understandable, as they were not usually found in America - but he was aware that they could become quite vicious when they felt threatened. “Like I said,” he concluded , “I ain’t seen none here myself, but my customers been complainin’ an’ I got to do somethin’ about it before I got to shut the shop down. That’s what I called you heah for.”

Newt assured him that he would have the Bowtruckles out in no time. He searched in his pockets and pulled out a pouch of what looked like tiny, iridescent beads.

”What’re those for?” asked Houtkooper.

”These are fairy eggs,” Newt explained. “Bowtruckles are especially fond of them.” He started searching around the shop in every nook and cranny, having chosen his softest-soled shoes to wear that morning so that he didn’t frighten the creatures into deeper hiding. Yet after nearly two hours of searching, not a single leaf, stem or shoot of a Bowtruckle was to be seen.

”I don’t suppose you would mind if I took a look upstairs, would you?” he asked.

”Not at all, not at all,” Houtkooper assured him. So the search continued upstairs.

”Aha,” said Newt, pointing to the sloping wooden door of a small closet. “What’s in here?”

”Oh, just some cleanin’ stuff,” Houtkooper replied, “ ‘cept I don’t use most of it these days, seein’ as that closet’s fulla spiders an’ woodlice an’ the like.”

”That’s good. Excellent. Good.” Newt quickly spotted his client’s puzzled expression. “Another favourite Bowtruckle snack, woodlice. Pickett loves them... Pickett, my Bowtruckle. I left him some in here.” He patted his suitcase. “Now, let’s see if they’ve made themselves at home in your cupboard.”

The door was, unsurprisingly, unlocked. (Bowtruckles are excellent lock-pickers, with their long twiglike fingers). Newt held the pouch of fairy eggs open in front of the door, then slowly and carefully pulled it open.

There was indeed a small creature at the back of the closet, and it was indeed a rather twiggy-looking being with branchlike fingers and a leafy head. But it was not a Bowtruckle.

”That,” observed Newt with apparent fascination, “is not a Bowtruckle.” He drew his wand from his pocket and said, “Lumos!”

The little creature was illuminated by the light from Newt’s wand. Apparently it had started its own stash of wands, because there were seven or eight of them stacked on the shelf behind its head. It blinked its round, dark eyes in the wandlight and moved defensively in front of its new collection.

“Hello,” said Newt with a small grin, lowering his wand. “And who might you be?”

He hadn’t really expected a response, but he certainly got one. The creature raised its head defiantly and gave an indignant little shout.

“I...Am...GROOT!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Newt’s mind was rushing with excitement, although outwardly he managed to stay quite calm. A newly discovered magical species! And not just any species, either, but one that could speak English... which potentially meant that its levels of intelligence could be classified as ‘near-human’... Judging by its appearance, this one was a juvenile... what would the adults be like? Already he was planning a to dedicate a new entry in his book to this fascinating creature, the Groot - or was that the name of this individual, not the name of the species as a whole?

‘I am Groot,’ it had said. Well, it would be quite rude not to return the introduction. “I am Newt,” he said, lowering his face to the level of the little creature’s eyes. “And I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you out of this cupboard.”

“I am  _Groot_!”

”Yes, I gathered that,” Newt replied. “Now, come on, I can’t let you stay in there. I’ll find somewhere nice for you to stay until we get you home,” he added, patting his suitcase again.

But the Groot - if that was what it was called - had stopped listening. It was staring at the pouch of fairy eggs, its round eyes shining in their sparkling light. “I am  _Groot_...” it said, a look of wonder on its little face. And it reached out to take an egg. 

No sooner had it picked up one fairy egg, than the whole pouchful came spilling and tumbling out onto the floor - and, still fascinated by their iridescence, the Groot began chasing them down.

“Catch it!” yelled Mr Houtkooper. But the Groot clearly had no intention of being caught. Almost before the two wizards had a chance to turn around, it had reached the top of the stairs and was jumping down each step, giving a little whoop with every jump.

Newt scrambled down the stairs after it. Catching the Groot unharmed was his priority, he thought - but Mr Houtkooper had other ideas. Drawing his wand and pointing it at the swiftly retreating Groot, the shopkeeper shouted, “Stupefy!”

A blast of light shot from the tip of his wand, narrowly missing the Groot; the spell collided harmlessly with the skirting-board, and the target skittered away with a yelp. “I-am-Groot!”

”It would be better if you didn’t try to attack it, Mr Houtkooper,” said Newt disapprovingly. “I’d like to regain its trust if I can, and attempting to Stun it probably won’t help.” 

Mr Houtkooper looked slightly miffed, but he returned his wand to his pocket.

”Now then, Groot,” Newt said. “Where have you got to?” For now the little creature was nowhere to be seen. 

The front door was unlocked, but it didn’t look as if the Groot would be able to open it. Still, it was safer to make sure that it didn’t have that option. “Colloportus!” Newt said quickly, aiming his wand at the door. The lock clicked shut. There! Now the Groot’s escape routes were limited to the interior of the shop.

It didn’t take long to find the Groot again, because after a minute or two, Newt heard the pattering of woody feet behind the curtain in the corner. He walked silently up to the shabby curtain and pushed it carefully aside.

The Groot had evidently grown bored of chasing fairy eggs, and decided that wands were more exciting after all. This room was where Mr Houtkooper cleaned and polished the wands he sold; there were several of them laying on the workbench, and it was on the same workbench that the Groot was running around, waving a wand - the way a child waves a stick, imagining it to be a sword.

For a moment, Newt was so absorbed by its childlike antics that he simply stood quietly for a few seconds, watching. It was only when a series of orange sparks shot alarmingly from the tip of the wand that Newt remembered his task.

It was time to catch a Groot.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Of course, Newt thought, this wasn’t a matter of simply scooping the Groot up and putting it in his suitcase. There had to be some sort of... technique, as there was when it came to dealing with any magical creature. The only problem was that Newt had never faced a Groot before. So how should he go about trying to catch it?

The Groot was like a small child, it seemed; it liked shiny things, things that it could play with, things that it could chase... 

Things it could chase.

Newt could still remember one of the more obscure Transfigurations he had learned during his fifth year at Hogwarts. Back then, he had used it on a small notebook; here, his bow tie would do. He took it off, laid it on the floor, deftly swept the tip of his wand towards it, and whispered, “Papilifio!”

The bow tie quivered for a moment - then transformed itself into a slender purple butterfly, its wings shimmering brilliantly despite the dim lighting. Newt raised his wand. The butterfly rose with it. Newt moved his wand to the left. The butterfly moved to the left.

Mr Houtkooper was watching Newt with a bemused look on his face. “What you doing, Mr Scama... Newt?”

”Shh,” Newt replied. “I don’t want to disturb him too early.” Mr Houtkooper nodded and shrugged.

The Groot had left the wand on the workbench and was now clambering on the wand-polisher. Just as the little creature had reached the top of the fuzzy wand-buffers, it caught sight of something shimmering above its head. “I am Groot?”

The butterfly fluttered lower, almost alighting on the top of Groot’s head. Then it swooped down and settled on the workbench.

Now the Groot was intrigued. Clinging onto the wand-buffer, the Groot leaned forwards and let the mechanism rotate like a ferris-wheel until the surface of the workbench was less than an inch away from its feet. Then it jumped down onto the workbench and reached out to touch the butterfly’s silky purple wings.

Silently, Newt flicked his wand towards himself; the bow-tie butterfly rose into the air, out of the Groot’s reach once more, and began to flutter out of the workroom.

“I  _am_ Groot!” The arboreal creature was certainly determined, there was no denying that. Sliding down the table leg like a fireman, it followed the butterfly into the front room of the shop. Twice or thrice, the Groot gave a sudden leap and seized at the air - but its short, stumpy legs were evidently  not made for springing, and Newt was careful to keep the butterfly just above the Groot’s jumping range. 

Hopefully the Groot wouldn’t lose interest. Hopefully it would remain distracted enough for Newt to carry out his plan. Hopefully, it wouldn’t notice that the butterfly was leading it towards the suitcase which was laying inconspicuously in the corner of the room...

But just as the Groot was halfway between Newt and the suitcase, Newt felt a peculiar - yet familiar - sensation. There was an unpleasant tingling in his nose and his eyes were almost watering. Given the fact that the little wand-shop was so airless and dusty, it wasn’t surprising that he really, really needed to sneeze.

Hurriedly he whisked a handkerchief from his pocket and attempted to muffle the sneeze. But in the near-silence of the shop, it was still unfortunately loud. “KTCHOO!”

The Groot turned its head sharply. The bow-tie butterfly quivered and fell to the floor. Then the Groot gave Newt as furious a glare as a baby tree can give, before darting across the floor, heading for the stairs, and -

— bam!

Suddenly, the Groot found itself surrounded by darkness and the soft texture of fabric. Mr Houtkooper had taken off his caramel-coloured hat and dropped it over the little creature, the way one might drop a cloth over a parrot-cage. 

“Thank you, Mr Houtkooper.” Newt crossed the room and gratefully scooped up the hat; the Groot, now rather indignant, was attempting to struggle its way out from under the silk brim. “I was almost afraid we’d lost him then.”

The shopkeeper smiled modestly. “Glad I could be of use, Mr Scama... Newt.” 

The Groot’s head poked out from inside the hat; it looked slightly airsick. “I...am... _Groot...”_

”Oh dear,” said Newt, “I don’t think you like that, do you?” He crouched down and reached for his suitcase. “Don’t worry, you’re going to stay in here for a bit, and then...”

” _Oh no you don’t!”_

This interjection did not come from Mr Houtkooper. It came from the small and rather furious intruder who had just entered the shop.

”What in Merlin’s name is  _that?”_ the shopkeeper gasped.

”That,” said Newt, “appears to be a raccoon. A bipedal, talking raccoon. In a jacket.”

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Raccoon!?” the intruder replied furiously. “Do I  _look_ like a raccoon to you noodleheads?” 

“Well, I ain’t never seen a talkin’ raccoon in a jacket,” muttered Mr Houtkooper, “but other than that - yeah, I guess you do.”

The ‘raccoon’ was about to make some cutting retort, when the Groot poked its head out from the hat again and waved. “I am Groot!”

”Yeah, I can see that,” growled the raccoon. “Which is why I’m tellin’ him to put you down.” He glared pointedly at Newt, who apologised and gently set the tasselled hat down on the floor. The Groot scrambled out of the hat and ran to join the raccoon in the doorway - though not before it had looked up at Newt and blown an indignant raspberry at him.

”Now tell me,” the raccoon demanded, striding up to Newt, “what the Quill were you doin’ with my companion? ‘Cause if anyone so much as  _thinks_ of harmin’ Groot, then they gotta go through  _me_ first.”

”I think we have a misunderstanding,” Newt began. “I would never deliberately hurt another creature. I was just removing Groot from Mr Houtkooper’s shop.”

“Yeah, about that...” The raccoon was now addressing Groot. “I’ve been lookin’ all over the century  for you. How the flark did you end up in 1926 in a shop sellin’ pointy sticks?”

“I am Groot...” the little creature replied sheepishly.

”No, I said 2026! Not 1926!”

”I am  _Groot!_ ”

”No, listen! Can’t you tell the difference between nineteen and twenty?”

Mr Houtkooper, having dusted off his hat and put it back on, was now staring in bemusement between the jacketed raccoon and the infant tree. “Can someone please tell me what in Merlin’s name is goin’ on?”

The raccoon sighed and pulled a tiny device from his pocket. The object was silver and rounded, with a circular opening at the front; it looked rather like a miniature, metallic wasp’s nest. “This is a NEUTRA,” explained the raccoon. “Nova External Use Temporal Relocation Apparatus. Groot an’ I were borrowin’ it from the Nova Corps so we could... well, that’s confidential. Basically, this little gizmo lets you travel through time from a fixed point in space.”

Newt nodded. “Like a Time-Turner.”

”I’m just gonna pretend like I know what you’re talking about,” said the raccoon, waving one paw dismissively. “Yeah, probably like a time turner. Anyway, the point of it bein’ called ‘external use’ is that it doesn’t travel with you. It just stays put and beams you off to whenever - an’ it only works on one body at a time. 

”So how’dyou get back to where... uh, _when_ you started?” asked Mr Houtkooper, who seemed surprisingly unperturbed by the revelation that he was talking to a raccoon from the future.

”Good question,” the raccoon replied. “Guess the Nova Corps didn’t bother to tell us that. But I figured it out. See, the Corps only gave us  _one_ NEUTRA each...” He pulled a handful of identical silver orbs from his pocket. “...but Groot an’ I swiped a couple more before we left. Then I beamed myself with mine an’ Groot beamed himself with his - except Groot here set the temporal dial a century too early.” 

The little tree creature hung its head in shame. “I am Groot...”

”Ah, don’t worry about it,” his companion replied. “Now let’s ditch these scumbrains -“ (“What did you call us!?” and “Excuse me!?” protested the two wizards) “- I mean, these  _humans,_ an’ we’ll get back to 2026.”

Both Groot and the raccoon placed their Temporal Relocation Apparatus on the ground and pressed what was apparently a switch or button inside the circular opening. Within a few seconds, both devices were emitting a broad beam of turquoise-coloured light from said openings - and it was these beams of light which the two time-travellers stepped into.

”Wait,” Newt called to the raccoon, who was almost beginning to dissolve into the radiant beam. “Can I ask you something?”

“It’d better be quick,” came the brusque reply.

”Are there... _more_ of you in the future?” Newt asked. “More of your species, and of Groot’s? Or are you the only ones left on Earth?”

The ‘raccoon’ winked as his body began to shimmer into nothing. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he smirked. 

Groot, being smaller, was disappearing more quickly than his companion. He gave a Newt and Mr Houtkooper a cheeky wave, before he faded away into the turquoise light. “I am Gro _ooooo.....”_

Then both of the creatures were gone, leaving nothing but a pair of tiny metallic orbs on the floor.

 

 


End file.
